


Glowing Yellow

by redmacallan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Agender Bill Cipher, Dysphoria, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Post-Weirdmageddon, Referenced/Implied Transphobia, Trans Dipper Pines, dipper is eighteen! woo!, this was meant to be like 3k but it got out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmacallan/pseuds/redmacallan
Summary: Bill comes from a dimension with fourteen billion genders.He hates all of them, frankly. He glows yellow, most of the time, and that’s good enough for him.





	Glowing Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be much shorter than it is. Oh no.
> 
> Also, I'm a trans guy myself but I haven't started transitioning yet (for a variety of reasons) so please forgive any inaccuracies. If there's something really wrong, feel free to comment or email me, and I'll do my best to correct it!

Bill comes from a dimension with fourteen billion genders. 

He hates all of them, frankly. After all, there  _ is _ a reason he destroyed that place. It was… stifling, to say the least. After all, how are you meant to live and experience everything when you’ve only got two dimensions to move around in, or three directions for time to go in, or just fourteen billion ways to describe yourself, and your place in the universe, and your relationships to other beings.

He can see it, too. It’s like a little glow around living beings, a colour that doesn’t exist but that everyone can see, that says  _ male _ or  _ female _ or a word that requires temporal manipulation to say. He sees it alongside all the other things he sees when looking at a living being- their face, their height, their emotions, and so on.

He doesn’t have a glow, but they told him he was a certain gender anyway. He hardly even remembers what they told him he was- though whether he’s genuinely forgotten or has just buried it in the back of his mind, he won’t say. He doesn’t have a glow, now, anyway. What does it matter? He glows yellow, most of the time, and that’s good enough for him.

Humans, though, are  _ awful _ with this.

Sure, they’ve got a whole three dimensions to move around in (three! Bill could’ve only  _ dreamed _ of having three dimensions to experience, back in his own dimension), but they’re so hung up on the other two. Time scares all of them, for one, though it doesn’t really bother him- he tends to flit back and forth in time wherever he likes, and it’s good nightmare fodder- but gender.

_ Man, _ are they hung up on that.

Most of the time, humans split themselves up into one of two categories, which suits Bill just fine. If he’s feared and can move about in more than two directions, the words humans use to describe themselves don’t matter to him. 

He knows better, though. (Doesn’t he always?) Just because he’s learned how to see the universe in three dimensions doesn’t mean he’s unlearned how to see the weird gender-y glow around everyone. There’s simply never been a reason  _ to _ unlearn it, and it occasionally comes in useful.

So, sometimes, he’ll see people with glows that don’t just mean  _ man _ or  _ woman _ but something else entirely, something that he’s sure humans don’t use the same word for it he would. Sometimes, he’ll see humans that flicker and change between glows, changing all the time. Sometimes, humans are like him- they don’t really  _ have _ a glow, and he feels something flicker at his core, something warm and sympathetic and happy, before it’s immediately extinguished and he goes back to rage and lust for power.

He figures it’s probably linked to the whole dream demon thing he’s got going on, too. He can see people’s minds, it’d make sense that he can see people’s identities, too- even the ones they don’t quite know they have.

And, well, if he can see it, he’s definitely going to exploit it for his own gains. That’s only fair.

When he gets mixed up with the Pines, he can see theirs, too, just like anybody else. Sixer and Fez and McGucket all have the same one, the one that usually means  _ man _ , and when Ice Bag and the lady with the weird eye show up, they’ve got another one, the one that means  _ woman _ .

When the twins show up, Shooting Star’s got one that means she’s somewhere in between- one of the weird, very specific words that Bill doesn’t think exists in this dimension- and Pine Tree’s got the same one as his great-uncles.

Bill doesn’t think anything else of it. It’s as obvious as the colour of their hair, or their name, or the tangible, delicious fear that crops up whenever he’s around.

It’s weird in some ways, when he possesses Pine Tree’s body, to be in a form that usually has a gender. He doesn’t entirely like it, in fact, but he tries not to think too much about it. Plus, he’s got pain to make up for it!

Pain’s awesome.  _ Sensation _ is awesome. 

Stealing the journal would also have been awesome, had he not failed miserably at it. As great as feeling things was, human bodies are too good at it. It was extremely inconvenient. 

And then, of course, Weirdmageddon happens, and  _ that _ all goes wrong, and somehow this  _ infuriating  _ family ends up sending him back to the Mindscape, severely limiting his powers, and preventing him from making any contact with their dimension except in dreams and when explicitly summoned.

It’s  _ awful _ .

The Mindscape’s not quite as bad as his old dimension, but it’s not… fun. There’s no-one to watch here, except for the people who are sleeping, their dreams flickering in and out of existence. He cooks up a good nightmare or two, of course, to keep himself from getting too bored, but he misses the people of Gravity Falls, the people he grew to know. He knows lots of things, of course, even when limited by the Mindscape, but…

But he wants to know about  _ them _ . He wants to see them again.

Time passes by, though he can’t tell by how much. Time’s weird in the Mindscape, which makes sense- it’s been constructed by him, after all, and he’s from a dimension where time works differently. He stops in to check on the Pines when he can, though- angry, at first, hoping to get his own back- but more out of interest, later. Sixer and Fez return back to the shack, which he knows because Fez is dreaming about yelling at customers instead of seagulls, and because Sixer stops dreaming about wanting to find the answer to some question about the sea.

He found his answer, apparently. Either that, or he doesn’t care about finding it anymore.

Shooting Star gets taller, but not a lot else changes. Her dreams are just as neon and glittery as before. Sometimes Bill throws a few zombies in there, just to watch her turn them into cool (if decaying) boyband members, with neon green shades and hats cocked to the side. It’s like talking to someone again, almost- doing something and then getting a reply.

Pine Tree gets taller and skinnier and more awkward. Most of his dreams are pretty boring, really- usual smashing-everything-from-the-past-24-hours-together sort of fare. After a few years, though, Pine Tree starts having nightmares of his own every time Bill checks in on him, terrifying, violent affairs, full of lashing, snarling bullies and vague but dangerous taunts.

It’s a surprisingly well-crafted nightmare, made to appeal to Pine Tree’s darkest fears, and the kid did it on  _ accident _ .

Bill feels… something about that. He can’t tell if it’s good or not.

Whenever he sees those dreams, though, he gets rid of them immediately, replacing them with his own, much more creative nightmares. Something with soda cans filled with blood and veins filled with water and rivers that flow soda. Something that Pine Tree’ll remember in the morning.

Hopefully, he might even laugh about some of them, but Bill doesn’t need to know or admit that.

And then, completely unexpectedly, he finds himself getting summoned, out of the Mindscape.

He’s ecstatic, at first. Finally, a chance to get out! To experience things that aren’t in minds again! Maybe whoever’s summoning him will give him a body, too, that’d be neat. He’s missed jabbing sharp objects into himself and drinking through a mouth instead of an eye.

It’s only  _ after _ he gets to the summoning that he realises what the fact that he’s being summoned at all implies. Sixer destroyed all the ways to get a hold of him after Weirdmageddon, and he didn’t leave any instructions lying around that Sixer wouldn’t know about, either. Which means…

Well, it means someone’s fucking  _ pissed _ .

His worst fears end up being true. He’s pulled into the third dimension- he hesitates to call it the  _ real world _ because what is reality, anyway?- to see Sixer and Fez staring down at him, suddenly terrifying and taller and more menacing than they’ve ever been before, and an ache in his body like he’s lost a limb.

That feeling, as it turns out, was them severing his connection to the Mindscape, to all of his powers.

To the way he  _ sees _ , even.

Apparently, he’d got a little too excited with some of Sixer’s dreams- added a few too many triangles, made a few too many references to Weirdmageddon. Sixer had gotten suspicious and started searching to see if he was still alive and active, somewhere. Then, once they’d found him, they’d used their knowledge of summoning him (which, though Bill hates to admit it, is pretty extensive) to drag him into their dimension, cut him off from his powers, and stuff him into a corporeal form.

Which is human. Of course. They couldn’t even give him something with a few more limbs, or corners, could they?

They handcuff him (though how he’s supposed to hurt them like this, he doesn’t know- he can’t even walk properly yet) and drag him back to the Shack, the two of them arguing the entire time. Bill barely even hears what they’re saying. He’s still trying to figure out…

Everything, really.

There’s so much he can’t see like this, completely cut off from both his usual form and the Mindscape. Emotions, for one. He can tell that their emotions are changing because the muscles in Sixer and Fez’s faces move even when they’re not talking, but he can’t tell  _ what _ they’re feeling. He just can’t see it anymore.

Gender, too. The glows around everyone have disappeared, replaced with empty space. If he meets anyone new, well… He’s got a one in fourteen billion chance, at least.

When they arrive at the Shack, he’s confused and disoriented. He keeps blinking every few seconds, as if closing his eyes (eyes! He’s got more than one, now!) will make everything go back to normal, let him see everything the right way again.

It doesn’t work.

They shove him into a seat at the kitchen table, the two men taking seats opposite him. Everyone’s quiet, for a moment, until Sixer slams his hand on the table and starts yelling,  _ demanding _ that Bill tell them what he was planning, how he survived, how he’s been spending the past five years.

_ Five years _ , Bill thinks, in the part of his mind that’s still calm.  _ That’s good to know. _

Bill tells him the truth- that he hasn’t really been planning anything, that he’s spent five years just poking around people’s dreams, and that he survived because they did a pretty shitty job of “defeating” him, all things considered.

...That last part could possibly have been phrased in a way that wouldn’t result in Sixer storming out of the kitchen, screaming that he was going to  _ destroy  _ Bill and make him  _ hurt  _ the  _ way he’d hurt his family. _

Bill and Fez watch him go and heard him slam the door behind him.

They’re both quiet, and then Fez sighs.

“Look, Ford, he…” Fez scratches the back of his neck. “He didn’t really mean it. Or, well, he did, but…” He shrugs. “He’ll be over it, soon. He’ll just want to prod you with every bit of scientific equipment in this place and try to figure out why you’re not dead.”

Bill doesn’t reply. That doesn’t sound better than what’s currently happening, anyway. 

Fez squints at him for a few seconds, trying to figure him out. Bill does the same, actually. Human faces are so  _ difficult _ without just being able to see what they mean, what the people attached to them are actually feeling. Is Fez angry? Confused? Interested?

Hell, he could be  _ aroused _ for all Bill knows. It’s anyone’s guess.

Fez stops doing this pretty quickly, though, and stands up from the table. “Well, if we’re going to be keeping you here, we might as well give you something to eat.” He opens the fridge in Bill’s peripheral vision, grabbing a plastic tub from the middle shelf. “Mac and cheese okay, or do you demons have some weird food thing I don’t know about?”

“Usually,” says Bill, in a tone he later realises is alarmingly casual, “I feast on the blood and fears of mortals.”

Fez slams the fridge shut. “Mac and cheese it is, then.”

He takes the lid off the tub and scrapes its contents into a bowl, then places the bowl into the microwave. The thing starts buzzing annoyingly.

Bill stares down at himself, not for the first time that evening. He’s got dark skin and fingers that seem just a little too long for his hands, and blonde hair that flops over his eyes when he looks down. He thinks that’s an unusual combination for humans, but he can’t really be sure.

The microwave beeps several times to say that it’s done. Fez clicks the door open.

The wind builds up suddenly, and a  _ whoosh _ sound goes on outside. Fez places the bowl down on the table in front of him and dumps a fork down next to it. “So how old are you, anyway?”

“Older than this universe. More ancient than the ancients. Ten to the power of ten thousand to the power of ten billion-”

“Yeah, no.” Sixer waves a hand at Bill’s… body, he guesses. “I mean how old’s this thing? It’s supposed to reflect your age, but it clearly hasn’t done that.”

Bill shrugs, piling mac ‘n cheese onto his fork, as high as it can go. “No idea. I just got shoved into it. I haven’t exactly done the research.”

That gets a snort from Sixer. “You look about the twins’ age, to be honest. Their age  _ now _ , anyway. Not the age when you last saw them.”

“I know,” says Bill, through a mouthful of food. He’s still figuring out the whole eating thing. “I’ve been checking up on them.”

“Yeah?” Fez gives him a look that Bill still doesn’t quite get. “Not been giving them any nightmares, have you?”

“Not any  _ really _ bad ones,” replies Bill. It’s the truth.

“Good.” Fez fetches his a glass of water, too. Bill remembers not to just pour it all over his face. “Those kids have it hard enough as it is. You don’t get to make it any worse for ‘em.”

Bill frowns. What problems do Pine Tree and Shooting Star have, besides the whole being human thing? They were alive last time he checked, and their dreams weren’t fever dreams.

Well, Shooting Star’s might’ve been. It’s hard to tell with her.

Fez sits back down opposite him again, and Bill tries to figure out what he’s thinking, in-between mouthfuls of pasta and water. Honestly, this is  _ impossible _ . How do humans even do it?

Fez clears his throat. “You wanna explain why you’re looking at me like you’re trying to set me on fire?”

“I’m trying to see what you’re  _ thinking _ ,” Bill says, trying to come off as menacing and failing because of the food in his mouth.

Fez snorts. “Yeah, well, you abused your powers and now you’ve lost them. What’d you expect?”

Bill scowls. “Did you have to take  _ everything _ ? Would it have killed you to let me see emotions?”

“Might’ve. You’re sneaky.” Fez raises an eyebrow. “You can see emotions?”

“I  _ could _ , before you dragged me into this form,” retorts Bill, stabbing the last few pieces of macaroni onto his fork. “Now I can’t even tell what those faces you’re making mean.”

“You can’t?” Fez sounds… surprised? Bill thinks that’s surprised. “Hmm.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then notices Bill’s finished. He takes the plate and cutlery off of him. “I’ll let Ford know. See if we can sort something out.”

Bill’s chest jumps at the idea of having his powers back- it’s already been too long, he misses the Mindscape- but if it’s going through Sixer, it’s never going to happen. The guy hates his guts, even before he actually had guts to hate.

Fez takes him to a room in the centre of the Shack- windowless, surrounded by alarms, stripped of everything except a bed, a table, and a chair. It’s clearly been set up for his arrival- there are even hexes on the walls to prevent him using his powers, presumably in case the connection wasn’t severed properly. Fez unlocks his handcuffs, then locks the door behind him, telling Bill to get some sleep.

Bill considers just kicking the door all night. It’d certainly annoy Sixer, and the bastard deserves it for putting him in this body.

But his body feels slow and mushy and  _ tired _ , and he collapses onto the bed, sleeping almost immediately.

He doesn’t dream.

Sixer wakes him up in the morning, with a paper bag and several books under his arm. The bag’s got food and water in it- he’s going to have to pester them into giving him some soda, soda’s great!- and the books…

Well, the books are full of pictures of faces.

“Stanley told me of your… predicament,” he says, keeping his voice very low and even. “I didn’t realise the extent to which you relied on the Mindscape, but I can’t say I’m sorry for having done it.” His lips crease up into a thin line. “Maybe this way you’ll learn some empathy.”

Bill barks out a laugh. “Wouldn’t count on it, Sixer!”

Sixer growls, but carries on. “These books are designed to help you recognise facial expressions. They’ve got exercises later on, too, but I’ll bring you a pen for those later.” He looks Bill straight in the eyes. “Maybe once you learn to understand other people, I’ll consider letting you out of here.”

That doesn’t sound good. Bill’s awful with humans. How’s he meant to understand them without just  _ seeing _ what they’re like?

Plus, if there’s one thing he knows about human bodies…

“What, and just piss in the corner?” He smirks at Sixer, who coughs awkwardly.

“Stanley will escort you to and from the bathroom. You are not to hurt him, or anyone else, in any way. You will have one shower every two days.” He pushes his glasses up. “And, as much as I’ve disagreed, Stanley also insists that we feed you three times a day.”

Bill studies his fingernails. “Sounds classy. Not as good as the service in the Fearamid, though. Now,  _ that _ place really knew how to-”

Sixer’s slammed the door behind him. Bill’s just talking to himself.

The book turns out to be pretty easy, at least at first. Human’s lips go down? They’re sad. Human’s lips go up? They’re happy! Human’s lips go up too much? They’re creepy!

Bill’s going to try to perfect creepy. He feels like it could come in useful.

But then there’s all this other stuff, bits about what their eyes and eyebrows and body language is doing and frankly Bill can’t make any sense of it. And anyway, can’t people just change their face movements if they really want to? Even if he gets the face right, they could still be lying. It’s awful!

As awful as it is, though, he  _ does _ get better. Sixer keeps his word on the showers and the food and the pens, and Bill starts to recognise “worry” and “excitement” and “fear”.

Fear’s an especially good one. He likes being able to see fear again.

They start to let him out, too. First, just into the corridor and the bathroom, so Fez doesn’t have to listen to him pee five times a day, but later into the kitchen and the living room, too, so he can watch TV and try to figure out what emotions the actors are trying to portray.

He discovers that there are a  _ lot _ of bad actors.

Sixer, as Fez said, starts to do things, too. He jabs some needles into Bill’s arm about a week after he arrives, and brings him a bag of clothes. He asks questions as well, though Bill rarely has an answer that he likes. He simply can’t believe that Bill’s life doesn’t only center around this family! As if he’d ever be so petty.

He suppresses the part of himself that says his life kind of  _ has _ been centered around this family.

They don’t let him out of the house, though, not for a good while. Not, in fact, until the twins show up.

He gets a few days’ notice about their arrival. Fez leaves the shack in a hurry because apparently he needs to go and collect them or see them in California or something. Neither of them really explain it to Bill.

The days waiting for him to come back are long and tense. Fez barely says anything, just looking worried, spending long hours on the phone talking to different people. Sometimes he’s angry (Bill’s been working on his voices, too!) but sometimes he’s trying to comfort whoever’s on the other end instead.

Bill’s had a lot of practice doing angry. He hasn’t had any practice with comfort.

Fez’s car finally,  _ finally _ trundles into their front yard on the afternoon of the third day. Sixer cuffs his foot to one of the chairs so he can sit out on the porch, supervised. The chair’s not too heavy, but at least it might make it more awkward to run away.

They both know he wouldn’t run, though.

Shooting Star gets out of the car first, running into her great uncle’s arms with a yell of “Grunkle Ford!”. She’s taller, and her sweater might have a  _ little _ less glitter than it would’ve before, but not much else has changed.

Actually, no- she’s got little crinkles around her eyes, not from age, but from…

_ Dammit, what are those from- _

Worry!

Bill feels pleased with himself for remembering, then immediately frowns. Wait, Shooting Star’s been worried? About what? Did the pig do something? Has some other demon tried to attack her?

And then Pine Tree steps out of the car, and he realises why she’s been worried.

Pine Tree looks… bad, to say the least. He’s thinner than when Bill last saw him, and he was pretty scrawny even then. He’s wearing a shirt that goes down to his thighs and a big, baggy coat with the hood turned up, like he’s trying to hide, and there’s clearly some kind of injury healing on the side of his face.

Said face does light up when he sees Sixer, though. That makes Bill feel… something. Something nicer than when he was first looking at Pine Tree, anyway.

“Grunkle Ford!” he says, too, though his voice is quieter than Shooting Star’s. Bill’s not sure if that’s just because she’s so loud or if he’s being quiet.

Pine Tree shrugs off his hood and runs towards Sixer, as well, joining in with the hug. He looks… sad, maybe? Delicate, Bill wants to say. Like he’s sick but not really.

If it  _ is _ a demon that’s been causing this, Bill is going to evaporate the bastard.

Fez gets out of the car and joins the group, glancing at Bill briefly before ruffling the twins’ hair and telling them to get inside. They all laugh and nod and start to head in when-

When Pine Tree notices him and elbows his sister and points a finger at Bill and turns to Fez and asks-

“Grunkle Stan, why’s there someone sitting on the porch staring at us?”

“Ah-” Fez opens his mouth to say something then immediately shuts it. “See-”

Sixer takes over. “We’ll explain when you’re both settled in. It’s nothing to worry about.” He shoots Bill a look that says  _ it had better not be _ .

The group slam the door behind them, and Bill’s left outside. It’d be so easy to run, really, but what would he do then? He hasn’t got any powers, not anymore, and he can’t even manipulate people properly if he can’t read their expressions without actually having to  _ think _ about it. The most exercise he’s had is walking to the bathroom and back, so he wouldn’t even be able to run for long.

He stays and shivers in the breeze.

It’s growing dark when Sixer opens the door again to let him in. He unlocks the cuffs linking Bill to the chair and grabs him by the wrist. He points to the open door.

“You are  _ silent _ while I walk you through there. Is that understood?”

Bill snorts. “Sure.”

The kitchen and living room are empty. Bill wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone if he tried. Sixer leaves him in his room, alone, without another word.

He can hear footsteps upstairs from the attic. He wonders how the twins are doing.

The footsteps still and build every so often, and Bill can hear some faint talking and laughter, too. He can’t tell who it’s coming from. He hopes it’s Pine Tree laughing, though. Laughing’s just as nice for humans as it is for demons. Bill suddenly wants him to feel something nice. 

...He refuses to ponder that further.

There’s a cry from the kitchen of “dinner!”, and then the footsteps from upstairs build again, winding their way down the rickety old staircases, down onto the ground floor, past Bill’s room, and into the kitchen. He hears their voices, too, while they eat- soft and joking at first, then very quiet, then shouting, then quiet again.

He’s almost given up hope of getting food when there’s a knock on his door and the sound of the latches being unlocked. He straightens himself up a little, rushing in front of the door, ready to say something to Sixer about him being late-

Until he sees that it’s Shooting Star, instead.

She’s holding a bowl, like the ones Sixer usually brings, so he assumes she’s here to do the same job. She glares at him, silent, as if daring him to say something.

He doesn’t. Not yet.

She locks the door behind herself fastidiously, checking everything several times, before shoving the bowl towards Bill. “Here.”

Bill stares at it. It’s pasta- the good stuff that Sixer makes when McGucket’s around- and it’s got a plastic fork stuck into it. “Thanks.”

Shooting Star marches over to the wall by the table and chair, leaning on it. “Grunkle Ford tells me you’ve been staying with them. That they summoned you.”

Bill takes a big bite of the food. “He’s telling you the truth there,” he says, his words garbled a little. He swallows. “Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.” He shoots her his best smile. He’s giving her advice! Humans love advice, right?

...This one doesn’t seem to. She’s scowling at him. “ _ Apparently _ ,” she adds, “you can’t use any of your powers.”

“Nope!” He grins at her again. Humans make friends by smiling, he knows that. It  _ should _ be working by now. “Right now I’m just a regular old meatbag like the rest of you! No powers or anything!” He places the bowl on the table then opens his palm like he would’ve done to make fire in the Mindscape. Nothing happens. “See?”

She gives him another odd look, then rolls her eyes. “Listen, I’m not here to give you a lecture. I’m sure you can be better than your old self was, mostly because it’s not that hard. But-” she says, pointing a finger at him sternly- “I swear that if you hurt my brother, at all, I will  _ destroy _ you.” She glares into his eyes. “Understood?”

Bill searches her face, looking for how he’s meant to react. Does he need to apologise for something? Try to make a deal? “Understood,” he says. He lets out a laugh- maybe this conversation just needs more of those! “Hey, I bet Pine Tree and I could even be  _ friends _ ! How’s about that for not hurting him?”

Shooting Star heads back over to the door again. “I kind of doubt that’ll happen. Just remember.” She points at her eyes, then at Bill’s. “I’ll be watching.”

She slams the door shut behind her. Bill grins.

Oh, but this’ll be fun! A challenge! New people to talk to! Maybe he can even get Pine Tree to  _ laugh _ !

The challenge, however, goes pretty badly for the first couple of days. Bill isn’t even let out of his room, except for bathroom breaks, and he doesn’t see anyone except for Fez and Sixer. On the third day, though, they let him out of his room to sit and watch TV while Sixer and Fez keep watch from the kitchen.

One by one, things come up. Mabel has to leave because she wants to see Pacifica. Sixer has to leave because he wants to see McGucket about something. Fez realises they’re almost completely out of food and he needs to run to the store.

Which just leaves Bill and Pine Tree.

Bill holds off on talking to him for a while. Mabel  _ was _ pretty clear that she didn’t want Bill hurting him, and Bill has a tendency to hurt humans on accident. They’re not exactly the toughest things in the world, and now he doesn’t even know what they’re thinking.

Not that he was any better at not hurting them when he  _ did _ know what they were thinking but, still. You know.

So, he stays downstairs, curled up in the giant plush chair in front of the TV, limbs poking out at awkward angles, wondering how half of these actors even still have a  _ job _ , when there’s a knock on the door.

He freezes. He’s not meant the answer the door- or, at least, he thinks he isn’t, the situation’s never come up before- but Pine Tree can’t hear it from upstairs and no-one else is home and if it’s Sixer who’s forgotten his keys or something he’ll be angry and Bill would like to  _ eat _ tonight, thank you very much-

Long story short, he answers the door.

It’s not Sixer. Instead, it’s a middle-aged man with a hat on, wearing all orange, and holding a box. “Are you Mason Pines?” he asks.

_ Who? _ “...No.”

“Alright, well,” the guy starts to get antsy, “do you live here? Someone needs to sign for this package.”

“I live here.”

“Great.” The guy fishes out a weird plastic block with a pointy plastic stick attached to it and holds it out to Bill. “Just sign here.”

Bill stares at the things. He knows about signing- he signs deals all the time, that’s his job!- but there usually isn’t anything like this involved. The pointy stick sort of looks like a pen, he supposes, and he picks it up like it is one. The bigger plastic block has some sort of screen on it, and when Bill touches the pen to it, the colours change.

_ Neat _ .

Bill looks up at the guy. He looks confused for some reason.

_ Oh _ . Bill must be taking too long.

Well, at least he knows how to sign things. He draws his mark- a little triangle, his old form- on the screen, then puts the pen down. “Done!”

The man looks at the screen oddly, but only for a moment. He sighs, mutters something about not being paid enough, and then picks up the box, handing it to Bill. “Here you go.”

“Thank you!” Bill waves him off, excited. Something new! Something he can show to Pine Tree! This is great!

Bill shuts the door and rushes up the stairs, almost forgetting how to climb them safely in his haste. He knocks on the door to the attic, waits a few seconds without a reply, then knocks again.

There’s a tired groan from inside. “Fine, come in.”

Bill bursts through the door. “Hey, Pine Tree!” He thrusts the box towards him. “I found you a mystery!”

Pine Tree yelps, immediately sitting up straight in bed, grabbing the sheets to cover himself up. “Bill?!”

“Yep, it’s me!” He strides over to the foot of Pine Tree’s bed. “Some guy knocked on the door and you couldn’t hear so I answered and he wanted me to sign something, which was weird, but afterwards he gave me this box and said it was for Mason Pines and I was wondering if you knew who they were because it’s a  _ mystery _ !”

...He realises he may have said too many words at once, there.

“Oh.” Pine Tree stares at the box, then back up to Bill. “Yeah, uh, that’s me.”

“...What?” No mystery to solve?

“Mason Pines. That’s me.” He points a finger at himself, like Bill needs to have things explained to him very slowly. “ _ I’m _ Mason.”

Bill frowns. Dammit, he had a mystery for the kid to solve. That was the one way he had in to finding out what was wrong.

You know, so he could exploit it. Definitely not because he cares, or anything.

...Then again, humans like presents, right?

Bill’s face splits into a massive grin. “Well hey then Pine Tree, I brought you a present!” He throws it onto the bed, thankfully not landing  _ on _ the kid. “Open it now! Don’t you wanna see what’s inside?  _ I _ do!”

Pine Tree laughs. “I already know what’s inside, I ordered these.”

“Oh.” Well, it’s not a great gift if Pine Tree bought it himself, but it’ll have to go. “Well, what is it?”

“Binders,” Pine Tree says, deliberately casual.

Bill’s never heard of those. He doesn’t think he owns any. Is it one of those weird human things he hasn’t heard about up until now? “What are those?”

“They’re like-” Pine Tree’s about to explain, but shakes his head. “Actually, you know what, no. I’m not explaining them to you. Thanks for bringing me the box and not jumping ship, but…” He gestures to the bed. “I’d like to get back to sleeping now.”

“Sure!” Bill shoots him a thumbs up. “Nice talking to ya, Pine Tree!”

The kid’s already laying down in bed when Bill shuts the door.

Over the coming days, the kid seems a little better, and Fez and Sixer seem a little less worried. Pine Tree walks around the house, now, sometimes nodding at Bill when he passes him on his way to the kitchen, or giving him a smile when Bill fetches him a glass from the top shelf.

He’s taller than Pine Tree! He can be helpful!

Bill’s allowed to eat dinner with the rest of them about a week after that. Sixer tells him not to say anything “inappropriate” which is pointless since Bill can’t tell what is and isn’t, but he promises to do his best. It wouldn’t do to set back all his work now.

They have tacos, and Mabel complains that they’re not spicy enough. Bill agrees, but stays quiet because he has a hunch that “spice is pain and I love pain!” comes under Sixer’s idea of “inappropriate conversation”. He hardly says anything through the whole meal, in fact, though he eats slowly. Everyone’s finished before him, and in the end it’s just him and Pine Tree in the kitchen, the kid hunched over the sink, washing up.

Bill finishes his last bite and lets out a sigh.

Pine Tree looks away from the sink and stares Bill up and down. He turns back to the washing up for a few moments, clears his throat, and then says, “Hey, Bill, are you okay?”

“Hm?” Wait, Pine Tree’s asking if  _ he’s _ okay? Really? “Yep!”

“You sure? I mean,” he switches to using a scourer, instead, “you barely said anything tonight. Usually you don’t shut up, ever.”

Bill laughs. “Sure, but Sixer told me that I couldn’t say anything,” he puts his fingers up in air quotes, “‘inappropriate.’ And well, that’s most of my conversation!”

Pine Tree snorts. Bill likes that, that’s close to a laugh. “And what would these inappropriate topics include?”

“Oh, you know. Normal stuff.” he starts counting off on his fingers. “The exact times and dates of people’s deaths, instructions on how to dismember a body, the true nature and formation of the universe, the best recipe for red velvet cake! Those kinds of things!”

“I think you can get away with the red velvet one,” says Pine Tree, a smile forming on his lips. He scrubs at his pan nonchalantly. “So what, you don’t talk about any of those anymore?”

“Nope!”

“...But why?”

“Well, I like to actually eat food!” He pokes at his stomach. “This thing complains if I don’t, and Sixer won’t give me food if I annoy him too much. Plus,” he adds, before Pine Tree can say anything, “if I talk about any of those things, I have to do it from memory since I can’t access my powers here. So, well, if my memory’s a little hazy, your cake might not end up so good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replies Pine Tree. He sounds kind of tense though. “Bill, has Grunkle Ford not been feeding you?”

...What? “No, he has! Mostly! I mean, there’s been a couple nights where I said something  _ real _ bad and then even Fez couldn’t sneak me something but-”

Pine Tree turns around, very suddenly, and stares at Bill. “Bill, listen. I have a lot more reasons to hate you than most people, alright? But while you’re here, you’re still a person, and you deserve to be treated like one. And while that includes not being worshipped as a god-” dammit, he was still kind of hoping for that- “it also includes actually giving you food and water and calling you by the right name. Stuff like that. So from now on, if Grunkle Ford doesn’t do that, I’ll do it instead.” He sticks out his hand, damp and wrinkly from the sink. “Deal?”

Bill’s feeling all fluttery. A deal? From Pine Tree? It’s almost too good to be true! “Deal!” he says, shaking the kid’s hand enthusiastically. 

So, for the next few days, they alternate. The next night, Pine Tree brings Bill his food, and they sit in Bill’s room and talk about the things Sixer doesn’t want to hear, and then the night after that, Bill sits at the table, silent and mostly ignoring the conversation of the rest of the table.

He finds he really likes talking to Pine Tree, even considering he hasn’t had anyone to  _ really _ talk to in a while. The kid’s a good listener, and he brushes off most of the  _ really _ bad things Bill says. Bill supposes he’s seen the worst he has to offer. Listening to Bill recount the burning of multiple parallel universes must seem pretty tame to having to actually see it in action. It helps that neither of them leave the house much, too- they’re both stuck between the shack’s four walls, and nothing from outside them can hurt them here.

There’s a knock on Bill’s door after one of the meals at the table is done and he’s back away in his room. He’s surprised- Sixer, maybe?- but replies with a “come in,” anyway.

It’s Pine Tree, shuffling into the room with a slightly nervous look on his face. Bill, however, forgets to actually register that emotion, and bounces up to him. “Pine Tree! What’re you doing here?”

“Hey-” says Pine Tree, taking a step back. Bill’s gotten too close again on accident. “So I wanted to say that I’m not going to be able to bring you food tomorrow-”

“...What?”

“-because,” he puts his hands out to reassure Bill, “I’m going to be out getting my hair cut.” He grabs his fringe between two fingers. “It’s getting too long.”

Bill can’t tell, but goes along with it. “...Oh.”

“But,” says Pine Tree, with the tensest smile Bill’s ever seen on him, “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me. And Mabel, too, uh… She’s gonna be there.”

Bill frowns. “Like, just to watch?”

“No!” The kid laughs. “To get your hair done, too. Get yourself cleaned up a bit.”

Bill strokes his own hair, just reaching his shoulders. It’s nice and soft and slightly curly, and he quite likes it, but this stuff  _ does _ grow back and he wants to get out of this place…

“Alright,” he says, uncharacteristically quiet.

So, the next day, he leaves the house just when it’s growing dark, under the watchful eyes of Shooting Star and Pine Tree. Bill hasn’t really been outside yet, not since the two elder Pines summoned him in the forest, but it’s… nice. Different, at least. 

He takes a second to just stand there and feel the wind and the sound of the trees and the people off in the distance, everything melding into one another, messy and imperfect and  _ connected _ .

He’s missed that. He hopes he can go outside more often.

Pine Tree taps his shoulder. “Hey, Bill?” he says. “We’ve got to go.”

Bill takes one more deep breath, then steps off the porch. “Okay.”

Pine Tree drives, and Shooting Star sits in the passenger seat and yells lyrics to songs. The drive’s short, though, and in the end they spend more time trying to find a parking space than they do actually getting there.

Bill’s happy when they step out of the car. The inside feels too much like his room- stifling and tiny and noise-deadening.

The barber’s is a tiny place on the main street with a black front sign and a red striped pole in front of it. Bill watches it spin, trying to focus his energy on making it spin faster, and faster, and faster-

It doesn’t work, and Pine Tree has to nudge him again to get him to move.

Shooting Star pushes the door open- it jingles!- and they all go in. She takes a seat by the window, and Bill goes to follow her when he’s stopped by Pine Tree grabbing his arm. “Come on, this way.”

He keeps a hold of Bill’s forearm while he talks to someone at a small desk. Bill doesn’t really pay attention to what they’re saying- there are too many new things to see, damnit, and this human brain can’t process all of them- but Pine Tree squeezes his arm and that gets his attention. “Hm?”

“Your name, Bill. He asked your name.”

_ You just said it _ , he thinks, but says “Bill,” anyway.

The man at the desk smiles at him. “Alright, then, Bill, if you’ll just come with me.”

Bill follows him to a chair in front of a big mirror. Pine Tree goes to the other side of the room.

“So,” says the man, laying out a pair of scissors and a razor, “how do you want it cut?”

Bill’s not sure what he’s asking. “...With scissors?” he offers. There aren’t many more ways to cut it, are they? He’d use fire, ideally, but…

The guy laughs. “No, what  _ style _ . You know, how you want it to look.”

“Oh. Uh…” Bill stares at himself in the mirror. How  _ does _ he want it to look? He hasn’t really looked at himself very well yet, and he knows most humans care about their appearance, but he just… hasn’t cared much about it yet. This body still didn’t really feel like his.

The guy wraps something around Bill’s shoulders. “Tell you what, since you’re having a hard time, I’ll do what I think would suit you. That sound okay?”

Bill nods, once. “Okay.”

There’s a snip, and then another few hundred of them, and then the sound of a razor and Bill has to look down, then up, then to each side, and then the razor turns off and there’s the smell of something in his hair.

And when he looks in the mirror again, his hair is short, and bouncy, and mostly on the top of his head and he looks… like himself, maybe.

He’s not sure how to explain it. Like a little part of the triangle body he knew is back. Like even if he doesn’t have his powers he’s got… something else.

The guy’s talking to him. Bill hasn’t been listening. “Yes?” he offers.

“That’s great!” the guy replies, holding up a mirror to the back of Bill’s head. “And the back’s short enough, too?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Nice.” The thing around his shoulders is taken away, and the guy starts packing his things away. “Well, I guess you can go show your friends how it turned out, now. They’ve been done for a little while.”

Bill turns his head to see Pine Tree and Shooting Star sitting on seats by the window, grinning at him. He walks over to them, a spring in his step- he did something and they’re happy, yes!- and says, “Look, it’s shorter!”

Pine Tree laughs. “Sure is.” He turns to his sister. “Mabel, you want me to pay?”

“Nah, I’ll do it!” She pats him on the back. “‘Sides, you two have haircut stories to share, right?” She saunters over to the desk.

Bill gives Pine Tree a big smile. “This guy asked me how I wanted it cut, and I couldn’t say ‘with fire’ so he did this! It’s basically magic!” He studies Pine Tree’s face, hoping he’s said the right thing, when- “Hey, wait! Yours is different too!”

“Yep.” He gives Bill a bemused smile. “That’s kind of why we came here, Bill.”

“I didn’t know!” says Bill. “I just wanted to get out and you and Shooting Star looked like you wanted me to say yes, so I did.” He gasps, and holds a hand out to Pine Tree’s head. “Can I touch it?”

“Mine?” The kid laughs and takes a step away. “No. You’ve got your own.”

Bill pouts. “But I’ll mess it up!” He does it anyway, though, running his fingers through the long bits on top of his head and his palm across the short, fuzzy sections. He sighs, content.

Shooting Star comes back to join them, stuffing her wallet into an oversized jacket pocket. “Come on boys, let’s go!”

“Boys and demon!” Bill replies, jerking his hand away from his own hair.

“Sure.” Shooting Star gives him a strange look. “Demons too.”

Bill’s not sure what she’s feeling but he’s happy anyway. He gives a wave to the man behind the desk. “Thanks for doing this thing!” he says.

The man says something along the lines of “no problem,” and they leave the shop, get back in the car, and drive back home.

Bill’s not sure when the shack became home.

They all eat around the table together, without the Stans. About halfway through the meal, Shooting Star nods at her brother.

“Bro, it’s eight o’clock.”

“Oh.” He looks at the clock. “Yeah, I’ll take it off after dinner, don’t worry.”

She rolls her eyes. “And ‘after dinner’ probably means after the washing up and after reading a book or something, right?”

“Nope, it means  _ after dinner _ , Mabel.” Are they arguing? Bill can’t tell. He hasn’t seen them argue in  _ forever _ .

Shooting Star sighs. “Sorry. It’s just… I worry, you know? And after what happened?”

“Can we not?” Pine Tree’s eyes are firmly affixed on his sandwich. “Not here, please?”

“Why do you care about  _ Bill _ knowing? He didn’t even know what a haircut was, why do you think he’s going to care about you being-”

“ _ Mabel _ -”

Bill stands up from the table. “I’ll go.”

The twins are silent, staring at him. He coughs.

“Just… I’ll go, okay? Say whatever you’ve got to say, because I won’t be listening. You don’t have to worry.”

And with that, he retreats to his room.

He can’t hear them from the kitchen. They’re both too quiet- neither of them yell like the Stans do when they’re fighting. He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, either, but he can tell it’s ended because there’s a knock on his door.

He doesn’t answer. They don’t want to see him. That’s why he left.

The knock again, then Pine Tree’s voice. “Bill?”

A stab of guilt runs through him at not answering. He walks over to the door and lets him in.

The kid looks disheveled and tired, hunched over in the doorway to Bill’s room. He walks past Bill and slumps onto the bed, head against the pillow.

Bill pads up to him, gingerly. “...Pine Tree?”

The kid sighs. “Just…” He shuts his eyes. “Tell me one of your weird interdimensional things, Bill. Please.”

Bill’s not sure why the kid wants this, but he’s not going to argue. Not with Pine Tree looking like that. “Alright.”

So, he sits down on the bed beside him, and starts to tell Pine Tree about the 2 and a halfth dimension, where everyone can only go up and down and forward, but never backwards, and how he told them all about the concept of going backwards and made their tiny, tiny minds explode, accompanied with cackling, gleeful laughs.

It’s a bit of an overstatement, even he can admit that. But Pine Tree’s relaxing, slumped and sleepy against the bed, and Bill’s  _ close _ to him, and he feels safe here, and the walls of his room don’t feel like they’re boxed in around him anymore. 

Pine Tree sleeps there, that night. Bill sits, and watches, and eventually falls asleep too, lying across his legs.

The twins get over their fight. They always do. Pine Tree returns to laughing along with his sister’s jokes, and Shooting Star pokes fun at her brother too-serious moments, and ruffles his hair at inopportune times.

Things change for Bill, though. He goes out a few more times with both of them- sometimes for groceries, which he really likes, and once for clothes, which he likes less. Not enough gold ones to choose. He misses being able to just drape metals over himself.

After those trips, though, Pine Tree starts taking him out of the house, just the two of them, to places that don’t really seem to serve any direct purpose. The park, first, to look at the ducks, and then to Greasy’s, and then to the woods around the Mystery Shack. Each time, they talk about nothing in particular. Sometimes Pine Tree mentions college, but the majority of the time, he just lets Bill talk about whatever he likes, even the things that scare Sixer or the things that Bill only half-remembered, compressed into this tiny body.

Bill likes the forest trip especially. There are so many magical beings and energies here, and still he can feel it bubbling through him, trapped in this form but dying to get out.

He keeps that to himself. He’s scared (Him? Scared? Of a human? That’s new.) of Pine Tree not letting him back out there if he says it. He still can’t use his powers, and he’d tell the kid as much, but…

Well, he doesn’t have the greatest track record for telling the truth, and Pine Tree knows better than anyone else when he’s lying.

So he says truthful things instead- why these trees are neon pink instead of green, why that gnome that bathes in squirrels  _ isn’t _ just a normal gnome, the various demon-summoning properties of a certain type of flower.

He gets a little too into his flower explanation, fails to notice a large branch across the forest floor, and trips over onto his knees.

He yelps.

Pine Tree lets out a surprised (if more dignified) noise, too, and rushes over to help. “Bill? You okay?”

Bill dusts the mud off his pants. “Mm-hmm.”

Pine Tree walks to stand in front of him and bends down slightly, holding his hand out to Bill. “Here. C’mon.”

Bill takes his hand. They don’t let go of each other for the rest of the walk, even while Bill gestures wildly with his other hand, and Pine Tree bends over laughing every so often. It’s nice, Bill decides. This is good.

They wind their way through the forest, further away from the shack, and then back round towards it, straying away from the designated paths. They both know this place like the back of their hands, anyway. They reach the shack too soon for Bill’s liking. He wants to stay like this, surrounded by the trees and magic and chaos, Pine Tree’s hand clutched to his.

He comes to the end of his anecdote just as the shack emerges through the trees. They both look at the house with the same mix of relief and trepidation.

Pine Tree sighs, looks around to check if anyone else is there.

There’s no-one.

He grabs Bill’s other hand and stares him in the eyes. “Listen, Bill, I…” He trails off, biting his lip.

Bill’s worried. Did he say something bad? Is Pine Tree having one of those human problems, like the ones that brought him away from his home, out here? Is he going to leave Gravity Falls, too? “Pine Tree?”

The kid sighs, then shrugs. “Fuck it,” he says, then smashes his face into Bill’s.

Bill’s too surprised to react, at first. He knows humans do this- he’s a dream demon, he’s seen more than a few ones with this in his time- but he’s never done it himself. Even ignoring the fact that, up until now, he didn’t really have lips to do it with, he’d never have thought to show affection like this. Being affectionate- liking someone- meant giving them gifts, like a screaming head, or a horde of knife-people, or their own galaxy.

...That  _ is _ what Pine Tree’s doing, right? Being affectionate?

Bill doesn’t know, but he  _ does _ know he’s doing this wrong. It doesn’t feel like anything, really. Humans always seem to enjoy it, but he doesn’t understand the fuss, honestly, not from this. 

He moves his lips slightly to ask Pine Tree what he’s doing wrong, and-

_ Oh. _

Oh,  _ that’s _ why.

He moves his lips against Pine Tree’s again, softly and gently, still unsure about what he’s doing, and it’s just as good. A thousand nerve endings, all screaming  _ yes _ and sending little shivers down his spine and fingers and stomach, and it’s  _ chaos _ , and Bill  _ loves _ it, loves the chaos, loves Pi-

He groans, and Pine Tree grabs the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. He moves his lips, too, and that’s even  _ better _ , because Bill can’t predict him now, and everything’s chaos and warmth and Pine Tree’s nose pressing into the side of his face.

Pine Tree pulls away, panting, lips damp and eyes wide. Bill takes a few deep breaths- he hadn’t even realised he’d needed to breathe, good job the kid remembered- then gives Pine Tree a big smile. “So  _ that’s _ why humans do that.”

Pine Tree stares at him, mouth open. “You- I- We just  _ kissed _ and that’s the first thing you say?”

“Sure!” Bill gives it some thought. What could Pine Tree have wanted him to say? It was true.

He has to remind himself that humans- even this generally accepting human- don’t always like him when he’s being completely truthful.

For some reason, it’s very important that Pine Tree likes him.

“Well, uh,” he gives Pine Tree a thumbs up with his free hand, “it was good! I liked it! Well done on the whole… mouth thing, there. Not that I’ve got much to compare it to, but definitely a good job on your part! Just as good as any set of magical teeth I’ve ever been given.” That’s true, at least. Plus, he’s complimenting him! Humans love flattery.

Pine Tree doesn’t seem satisfied, though. “Magical teeth?” He turns away from Bill. “Shit.  _ Shit. _ I just… I’m-” He bites his lip and lets go of Bill’s hand. “I can’t- I have to go.”

And he walks back to the shack by himself, leaving Bill to skulk back to his room, silent, alone, and confused.

What had happened? Didn’t Pine Tree enjoy it?  _ He _ did. It was nice, and Pine Tree looked pretty happy, at least until-

Until Bill spoke.

There’s a knock at his door.  _ Pine Tree? _ he wonders.

...But no, it couldn’t be.

It’s not. When he opens the door, it’s Shooting Star, instead. She’s holding a bag, one of the brown ones Bill gets food in. There’s a bottle in her hand, too.

“These,” she says, nodding at the things, “are for you. But first-” she strides over to the chair in the room, pulling it out from under its table- “you need to sit and listen.” 

Wow, she’s actually scary like this, though it could just be those chemicals in Bill’s body running rampant again. He obeys, staring up at her with his hands resting on his knees.

She stands in front of him, hands on hips, glaring. “You hurt my brother,” she says, bluntly.

Bill appreciates the bluntness. “Sure did!” He shrugs. “Wish I hadn’t, though.”

She scoffs. “Why? So you wouldn’t have to listen to me yell at you about it?”

“No!” What? That wasn’t what he meant at all. “I don’t  _ want _ him to feel bad, Shooting Star. I  _ like _ him! I’m just…” He sighs. “I don’t know humans very well, so sometimes I do the wrong thing to get what I want.” He sulks towards the ground. “And I thought I was doing so well after he did the whole smashy mouth thing.”

“..Wait, what?” Shooting Star is quieter, more tense but still angry.

“You know!” Bill looks up at her, eager to explain. “He smashed his face into mine and then held it there. Humans do it all the time, I’ve seen it. He did that.”

She squints at him. “And then?”

“Well, uh, it went on for a long time, and I guess he needed to breathe and he moved away and then I-” this is the bad bit, he’s sure of it- “i said that now I knew why humans did that because I didn’t know, and then he got confused and he started not making any sense, and he walked off.” He’s spoken too many words again but he doesn’t care, he wants to know what he did wrong.

While he’s been speaking, Shooting Star’s eyes have steadily grown wider, and she speaks once he’s done. “So he…” She looks down, swears, and stamps her foot. “What did he say? When he wasn’t making any sense?”

“He didn’t really-” Bill wrings his hands. “He didn’t really say much, Shooting Star. Just swore a few times and then sounded like he was about to say something about himself, and then he left.”

She sighs. “...Okay.”

Bill splutters. “O- okay?!” He stands up. “What did I  _ do _ ? I’m not…” He stands up and clenches his hands into fists. “I  _ hate _ being like this! I can’t see anything like I used to and I don’t have any of my powers, and I can’t make people feel the way I want them to and I  _ hate it _ !” He’s been yelling and he’s not meant to yell but he’s hungry and tired and he wants Pine Tree back near him, wants to know what’s wrong, dammit-

Shooting Star puts a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Bill,” she says. He puts the bag and bottle into his hand. “Here, take these. I’m going to go talk to Dipper.”

“No.” Bill grabs her arm. “No, I…” He glares at her. “What did I  _ do _ , Shooting Star.  _ Tell me _ .” His voice cracks a little at the end.

She rolls her eyes. “Nothing, for once. It’s my brother, this time.” She pries his fingers from her arm. “And  _ I’m _ going to sort it out. Okay?”

He didn’t… do anything? But…

Fuck it, he doesn’t want to argue with her, not anymore. “...Fine.”

She leaves. The room feels too quiet without someone to talk to while he eats.

Night falls, and he sleeps.

He sleeps in late the next morning. When he awakes, the room is light, sun streaming in through the tiny gaps in the wood. He’s warm- too warm- and it feels like his chest is too tight and someone’s banging on his door and his eyes are sticky and red and-

Wait.

Someone’s banging on his door.

He throws the covers off and rushes over to the door, flinging it open in a weird mix of tiredness and desperation. 

It’s Pine Tree, standing there, dressed a crisp, neat shirt and some ironed pants, his hair brushed and styled, holding a plate of pancakes. Bill realises how awful he must look by comparison. Bleary-eyed, hair sticking up in all direction, dressed in one of Fez’s old shirts and a pair of boxers, clutching the door handle like it’s a lifeline. He’s… inadequate, here. He’s never felt that before.

Pine Tree looks him up and down, then shakes his head. “Can I come in?” he asks.

Bill just nods and gives him room. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not after yesterday. Pine Tree gives him an odd look- worried? confused, maybe?- but walks past him anyway, placing the pancakes on the table then taking a seat on Bill’s bed. He gestures to the chair opposite. “All yours.”

Bill takes a seat and starts to eat. He watches Pine Tree while he does- he keeps opening his mouth and fiddling with his hands and turning red. Bill’s halfway through the meal when he decides he  _ has _ to say something.

...He’s not sure what, though.

If this was any other time with Pine Tree, he’d just be honest and say what he’s thinking. the kid always likes that, more than any other human Bill’s ever met. But in this case, even if Bill was going to be honest, he still wouldn’t know what to say. His thoughts are a mess of sleep and worry and he can’t turn any of them into something coherent.

So, he doesn’t say what he’s thinking.

It’s harder not to, though. What do humans do in this situation? He’s been watching them for as long as they’ve existed, but clearly he hasn’t been paying enough attention, because right now, he’s stuck.

...No, wait-

There is  _ one _ thing. Not that he’s ever tried it before, but, well…

“I’m-” he starts, and Pine Tree jerks his head up to look at him, and his voice cracks- “I’m s-sorry.”

Pine Tree frowns. “For what?”

“For, uh…” He hadn’t actually thought this far. What’s he doing right now? He can use that, probably. “For eating these pancakes?” he offers.

The kid raises an eyebrow. “I brought those for you. I don’t have a problem with you eating them.” He sighs and covers his mouth with his hands, his words coming out muffled. “I guess I should just get it over and done with.” He places the tips of his fingers on the table. “I’m sorry for freaking out and ditching you last night. It… There were reasons I did what I did, but it still wasn’t cool, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Wait, Pine Tree’s saying sorry to  _ him _ ? What did the kid do? “It’s uh…” he places the fork down, “it’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad for not wanting to do human stuff with me. I know I’m still not very good at the whole ‘being human’ thing.”

“No!” says Pine Tree, slamming his hand down on the table before reconsidering. “Well, I mean, yeah, but- but I don’t  _ care _ about any of that, Bill. I know what you are, and it’s fine. Plus, I mean,” he shrugs and laughs bitterly, “there are some people who’d say that  _ I’m _ very very good at being human, so…”

It’s Bill’s turn to slam the table indignantly. “What?” His eyes look Pine Tree up and down, bewildered. “But you’re one hundred percent human! I’ve checked!”

“It’s not-” Pine Tree waves a hand dismissively. “Never mind. Just…” He fidgets with his own hands again. “I’m sorry about last night. I won’t do that again without explaining why, okay?” He offers a hand across the table for Bill to take. “You still want to go out?”

Going outside? With Pine Tree? “Sure!” he replies, grabbing his hand and shaking it. The look on the kid’s face implies that he didn’t expect a handshake, but Bill’s too happy about having him back to mind much.

...He does have  _ one _ question, though.

“Can we, uh…” he says, still holding onto Pine Tree’s hand, “Can we do the mouth thing again?”

“The mouth thi-” Pine Tree echoes, before realisation spreads across his face, and he laughs. “Yes, of course. We can do that.”

“Right now?” Bill stands up, excitedly, but Pine Tree puts up a hand.

“No. You just woke up, and even with the pancakes I’m pretty sure you still have morning breath.”

“Is it not as good after just waking up?” asks Bill.

He learns that it is not.

So he ‘goes out’ with Pine Tree more (though he isn’t sure why he always phrases it like that- can’t he just say going outside?), and everything sort of settles. Pine Tree doesn’t want the Stans to know, for some reason- whenever Bill gets even remotely close to mentioning it in front of them, Pine Tree gives him the look that means  _ shut up, Bill _ \- but Shooting Star knows, and drives them places, and sometimes joins them.

They do different things, too. The twins have to study sometimes, but Bill stays up in the attic with them and offers what help he can. Other times, they go see a movie (Bill finds that he’s more forgiving of films when Pine Tree’s next to him), or eat somewhere together (Bill likes to scare the servers; Pine Tree does not), or watch the stars (Bill tells Pine Tree how there’s a parallel universe where the stars spell out DIPSHIT in the sky).

His favorite, though, is still just walking through the woods, brimming with magical energy, close to Pine Tree, hidden from the rest of the world.

Well, nothing is ever truly hidden, but hidden enough that Pine Tree doesn’t mind kissing him.

He learns that that’s what it’s called, too! He’s very happy when Shooting Star tells him, though she doesn’t look happy to have had to explain it to him. She sighs and rubs her eyes after explaining it.

“And if you have any more questions, okay, you can come to me. I don’t want either of you getting spooked because you don’t know about basic human behavior.”

He gives her a thumbs up. “Can do, Shooting Star!”

And, well… he’s thinking of taking her up on her offer.

Kissing is nice and all, but Pine Tree’s getting… antsy, maybe? More clingy when they’re alone, more willing to touch Bill and be closer to him. Which is nice, actually- Bill likes it a lot, but he can’t help but feel like Pine Tree’s trying to work up to something else.

At the very worst, it can’t hurt to ask.

So, on the rare occasion that Pine Tree is out of the house but Shooting Star is in, he makes his way up to the attic, knocks on the door, and waits for her to reply.

“Come in,” comes the voice from behind the door.

He unlocks the door and steps in. “Hi, Shooting Star!”

“Hi!” She spins over to face him, one hand still typing on her laptop and the other covered in drying bits of glue and paper. She points to her art book with her gluey hand. “You wanna help?”

“Nope!” He smiles. She’ll be proud of him for asking. “I’ve got a question.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “About what?”

“What’s the other thing humans do that isn’t kissing? Also-” he says, before she can stop him- “how do I do that with Pine Tree and also be good at it?”

She stops dead in her tracks, still and silent.

“...Shooting Star?” What’s happened? Has another demon suddenly shown up? It’s not him, he knows that.

She shakes her head. “Yeah, no. I’m not having this conversation with you.” She dusts off her gluey hand and sighs. “Look, just… go back downstairs for an hour. I’m gonna bring you some things and then I am going to try to pretend this never happened.”

Bill smiles at her again. “Okay!” he says, leaving the room. Humans are  _ weird _ .

She keeps to her word, and after leaving the house once, quickly, she brings Bill a stack of papers, a cup of tea, and a small cardboard box. “Knock yourself out,” she says.

And so Bill sets to reading.

He finds he knows some of this stuff. Some of it was in dreams, though usually there are more monsters or razors or disembodied heads involved when he’s there. And, well, he  _ does _ know humans have to procreate to get more of themselves, which seems a pretty inefficient way of doing things, but he didn’t design these meatsacks.

...Does Pine Tree want to  _ procreate _ ? He’s not sure he wants to be responsible for more humans existing. They’re fun and he likes some of them, sure, but…

Well, maybe not. He reads on.

The diagrams are interesting, though he doesn’t spend long on them. He knows what human bodies look like, he used to break them apart on a regular basis! And sure, maybe he doesn’t know about humans’ genitals as much as he knows about their spleen, but tying an intestine into knots was  _ so _ much more fun than trying to tie up anything else.

Shooting Star’s given him some sheets on other things, too. Things about human concepts of gender (well, he knows  _ that _ , he used to be able to see it) and sexuality (he couldn’t see that, but just assumed humans didn’t really care which other meatsacks they were smashing themselves into). She’s highlighted some of the sections- the ones marked  _ Trans Men _ and  _ Bisexuality _ \- but he doesn’t know what the highlights mean, so he reads everything. She’s probably just colouring in random sections anyway. 

He likes the paragraph on agender people. Even if it is crude and only limited to things inside human bodies, it still gives him a nice, warm, peacefully chaotic feeling inside.

Once he’s finished reading, he thinks he  _ might _ have an idea of what’s going on. Maybe. At the very least, if Pine Tree mentions any of these words, he’ll know what he means. And, well, if he  _ does _ want to procreate, Bill can tell him very clearly that he does not want any more humans in the world. Not by his hand.

Or well, not his hand, but…

Anyway.

He hides the papers and makes a note to thank Shooting Star later. The cup goes back into the kitchen and the box gets stuffed into a coat pocket, just in case he needs it.

He and Pine Tree go out a few more times, and things mostly stay the same. They laugh, and show each other things they’ve found, and walk through the woods like they don’t already know every inch of it. The box stays in his pocket, and the knowledge stays in his head.

And then it happens.

There’s a party at the old Northwest mansion, organised by Llama and accepted by McGucket. Mabel’s there, and Sixer goes to keep McGucket company upstairs, and Fez goes to see if he can swindle some money out of any of the partygoers.

Pine Tree and Bill opt not to go, however, and instead spend the evening amongst the trees, staring up at the stars, spotting fireflies and luminescent flowers.

Bill loves it. Everything feels so alive and so dead all at once, with the town quiet but the wind rustling through the trees, with nothing but the lights from the stars and the mansion, far off in the distance. Pine Tree’s hand is warm in his, and his laugh is happy and giddy and  _ safe _ , and every part of Bill is practically fizzing with energy, magical and otherwise, and so when they get back to the shack and Pine Tree brings him up to the attic and kisses him, he doesn’t even think twice about it.

He’s alive, he’s alive, there’s chaos and life and  _ everything _ , everywhere, and he’s got Pine Tree pressed up against the door, hands grabbing at Bill like he can’t do anything else. Pine Tree threads his fingers through Bill’s hair and rocks up towards him and makes a tiny, desperate noise, and  _ oh _ -

Bill wants to hear that again.

So he presses down, towards Pine Tree, and it happens again, vibrating through Bill’s lips, everything prickling with sensation. And it’s  _ good _ , and he keeps doing it but he wants  _ more _ , wants  _ something _ .

His hands go to the fly on Pine Tree’s jeans, ready to undo them before he stops. Wait, the things Shooting Star had given him  _ had  _ mentioned something.

“Can I-” he asks.

Pine Tree cuts him off, breathless. “Yes. Yeah.  _ Please _ .”

Bill fumbles with the button, but eventually it’s undone, and his hand is down Pine Tree’s pants, touching his hips, his skin, everything and anything he can, Pine Tree urging him on in hushed whispers and desperate kisses. He tries to be gentle- humans really shouldn’t be able to function, they’re just so easily broken, and he  _ really _ doesn’t want to break this one- but he’s also curious, and Pine Tree doesn’t seem to be in pain just yet.

His hand goes down to between Pine Tree’s thighs- that’s usually where human stuff tends to happen- and finds it’s wet, and soft, and not entirely unpleasant. His fingers brush against something that makes Pine Tree squeak, then moan, and the kid starts to move against Bill’s hand while Bill rocks himself against Pine Tree’s leg.

It’s messy, but everything with humans is.

They stay like that, moving slowly, for a little while, making noise but not quite talking, until Bill gets interested and sees what else he can do. He pushes his fingers further, sliding upwards and inwards and  _ nope that can’t be good _ -

He pulls out. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Pine Tree just looks confused and desperate, stunned as to why Bill’s stopped. “What?”

“Did you-” He looks to his hand, and then to Pine Tree. “I mean, that  _ had _ to have hurt, right?” Humans don’t like things poking around inside them. He’s made good use of that fact before.

“No, it-” Pine Tree coughs- “it was actually pretty good. You can keep going.”

“...Really?”

Pine Tree nods. “Yeah.”

So Bill does, and when his fingers slip in deeper Pine Tree  _ whines _ , and Bill’s heard every sound in this galaxy and in quite a few others but that one’s  _ really _ good, so he does it again, and again, and again.

Pine Tree throws his head back and shuts his eyes and presses Bill close to him, and Bill moves his fingers and hips and presses his lips to Pine Tree’s collarbone, and it’s good, and he’s making noises too without realising and  _ oh _ -

“ _ Bill- _ ” Pine Tree twitches around his fingers, once, twice, several times, making more of those noises Bill likes and he keeps going, moving against this human, close to...  _ something  _ happening, and closer, and closer, and closer-

He doesn’t feel anything but bliss for a second. The world is quiet, still, limited to a hand on his head and someone’s breath hitting his head.

And then it’s over, and reality sets in.

It’s not as bad as he thought it might be. Sure, his hand- the one that’s still inside Pine Tree’s pants, and he still can’t quite believe that- feels sticky and strange, and there’s still something on it when he takes it out. His own pants are damp with something, too, and there’s a dark patch on the front of them. He feels tired, and sweaty, and  _ gross _ , and he really doesn’t want to be standing right now for some reason, because even though he’s barely moved his legs are shaky and unsure.

But he still feels… nice? Good?

He’s warm, and there’s still the leftover feeling of magic from having been in the woods, and even though standing is unpleasant, every part of his body feels relaxed, sated, ready for rest. Pine Tree’s sighing and leaning into him, fingers threading through Bill’s hair and going in for a kiss. The kid looks happy, satisfied, a little bit dopey.

Kind of how Bill’s feeling right now.

He leans his face in for the kiss, lazy and undemanding. Pine Tree sighs into it, then pulls away.

“Well,” he says, staring Bill straight in the eyes, “that was…” He laughs, giddily. “That happened.”

“Yeah,” Bill replies, unsure of what else to say. He tries to step closer, but his legs buckle a little beneath him. “Shit-” He grabs Pine Tree, then says, bashfully, “I’m not so good at standing right now.”

Hopefully the kid’ll get the hint. He always does.

He snorts and brushes some hair out of Bill’s face. “You can go lie down if you want. I just need the bathroom real quick.”

Bill’s not going to argue, if only because tripping in front of Pine tree (again) would be more embarrassing than anything else.

Pine Tree leaves the room, and Bill lies back on the bed, kicking his shoes off by the side of it. Well, that was…

Good. It was good. He liked it.

Pine Tree seemed to like it too, which was good news. He seemed almost as winded as Bill had felt, which though not usually a good thing, seemed pretty pleasant in this case. And he hadn’t told Bill to stop, which probably meant Bill had done okay.

He’d done okay at  _ sex _ , he realised. Actual, messy, done-for-procreation, human, sex.

He expected the disgusted, demonic part of himself to be louder than it was. Half of him was still sleepy and satisfied and really wanted Pine Tree to come back, and most of the other half was feeling pretty chuffed at managing to manipulate a human into doing that with  _ him _ .

Well, maybe  _ manipulate _ wasn’t the right word.

It wasn’t much like what the sheets Shooting Star had given him said, though. There’d been more complicated descriptions of orifices and equipment that might be needed. They’d required setup and planning and preparation. This had just sort of  _ happened _ .

Plus, he hadn’t even needed the cardboard box. He patted his pocket. Yep, still there.

The door swung back open, and Pine Tree walked in, pants now buttoned up but wearing a large, fluffy jumper. “I’m back.”

Bill responded with a low, happy noise. He didn’t feel like making words right now.

Pine Tree clambered into the bed with him, taking off his pants but leaving the underwear and jumper on. “Sorry about that. I had to go do some things.”

“‘s okay,” replied Bill, nuzzling up to him. He wanted to be close and asleep right now, though if Pine Tree was talking, that probably meant the feeling wasn’t mutual. He fought to keep his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling.

Pine Tree put an arm around him in return, then turned to staring at the ceiling, too. He coughed awkwardly. “So, uh… Was that your first time?”

_ … What does he expect me to say? _ “Yes,” he replied. It was true- not only had he never been human, but he’d definitely never done that. Demons didn’t really do things like that. “...Was it yours?” If Pine Tree had asked, that meant it was something humans cared about, right?

He laughs. “Kind of. I mean…” He turns away from the ceiling, facing away from Bill. “First time as a guy, anyway.”

“...What?” But Pine Tree’s always been a guy, right? He could see that, even when he really  _ was _ just a kid. Has that changed and then gone back without Bill noticing? This is why he can’t function without a connection to the Mindscape because  _ things like this happen _ -

“Oh, come on,” Pine Tree laughs again, though Bill doesn’t know what’s funny. “I tried to hide it before, but you’ve- we’ve just  _ slept together _ . I don’t think it’s a secret now.”

He really has no idea what’s going on. “What’s not a secret?”

Pine Tree turns back to him and studies his face. “Are you…” He squints at Bill. “God, you seriously- you still have no idea, even after  _ that _ , how can you-” He covers his face with his free hand and laughs. “Well, okay, if you need it spelled out. I’m  _ trans, _ Bill.” He sighs, and Bill can see he’s a mix of relieved and terrified. “There.”

“...Oh.” Oh. “Like in the things Shooting Star told me to read?”

“What?”

“I-” Shooting Star had made it clear that she didn’t really want her brother knowing about it, but he deserved an explanation- “I wanted to know… what I was meant to do, for this,” he waves a hand at the two of them, “and she gave me a bunch of stuff to read, and some of it was about trans people. But I didn’t realise she meant…” He trails off.

Pine Tree sighs and shifts away from him, and there’s a pang in Bill’s chest.  _ No _ .

“But, uh,” he continues, hoping he’s not talking himself into a deeper hole, “it would make sense. Why… Why I saw you as a man, when I was still connected to the Mindscape.”

That makes Pine Tree sense up. “...What do you mean?”

“Well,” says Bill, perking up a little bit- he’s good at explaining demon things, he knows about demon things- “part of my powers within the Mindscape, and in my own dimension, was seeing identity. You know, so I could use people’s greatest desires and fears against them.” He decides not to elaborate on that point, though. Pine Tree looks uncomfortable enough as is. “But I could also see gender identity, since it forms a part of who you are, and well…” He shrugs. “Always saw you as male.”

“...Because I  _ was _ ?” asks Pine Tree, quiet and unbelieving.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Exactly. So I’m…” He sighs. This is harder than the other apology, somehow. “I’m not great at understanding all this human stuff about being trans because where I’m from, you can just  _ see _ what other beings are.” He snorts. “Actually, back there, I’m the odd one out. I don’t have anything  _ to  _ see.”

“You mean you don’t-”

“Have a gender?” He does the same humorless laugh Pine Tree did. “Yeah, I guess not. Makes other people a bit uncomfortable. One of the many reasons I left.”

Pine Tree turns back to him, moving closer again. “Mabel’s kind of like that, too,” he offers.

“Nah, she’s got a glow. Or she used to. Just one of the ones that isn’t male or female.” He realised he hasn’t explained that to Pine Tree. “I used to see them as glows around people.”

“...Do you miss it?” Pine Tree’s voice is wary.

“Sure.” He misses all of the Mindscape. He was so powerful there, so confident. He knew what he was doing and he didn’t have to eat or drink or scratch himself or kiss people or have nice conversations-

“But,” he adds, drawing Pine Tree closer, “there are nice things here, too.”

Pine Tree chuckles and leans in for a kiss. When they pull apart, they’re both blushing and breathless, and Bill feels sleepy and happy again, ready to kick off his pants and tangle his legs with Pine Tree’s and go to sleep, warm and relaxed and  _ himself, _ powerful and chaotic and  _ genderless _ .

Because, sure, Bill comes from a dimension with fourteen billion genders.

But he doesn’t need a single one of them.


End file.
